


Wander 'Verse shorts and one-shots

by BairnSidhe



Series: Wanderers [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Slight Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:48:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BairnSidhe/pseuds/BairnSidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots and shorts set in the world of All Those Who Wander.</p><p>Slight M/M smut in chapter one if you don't care for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori shares some news with Dwalin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they're a couple. No, I'm not apologizing. Maybe other people know, maybe they don't, but I imagine in a race with two thirds men, they would be understanding of male/male relationships. Perhaps with an increased taboo on lesbian relationships, but maybe not.
> 
> I have an interesting headcanon in the matter of Dwarven sexual politics.

Dwalin sat at his desk.  Many would assume that the Captain of the Royal Guard would spend his time, well, guarding.  They would be sorely mistaken.  He spent more time than he would like doing paperwork, the necessary evil of leadership.  The regular Guards, the Dwarves he trained to watch over the line of Durin were more than capable of their jobs. _His_ job was to regulate matters like who guards whom and what shifts they take and the current bane of his existence: payroll.  He was sure that the Guard’s budget should have plenty for the next month, but somehow there wasn’t.  He was coming to the conclusion that he had an embezzler among the payroll clerks when a familiar hand settled on the back of his neck.

“Nori.  I’m fairly certain I locked my door.  Was I mistaken?”

“No, you locked it.  Lock was nice, by the way.  Took me three times longer than the last one.”

Dwalin sighed.  “Most people take a locked door as a sign the occupant doesn’t want visitors.  For you, it’s a damn notice of welcome.”

Nori began to rub his neck.  “You’re tense.”   Typical of the former thief, he didn’t reply or acknowledge Dwalin’s semi-accusation.

“It’s the payroll.  Someone’s siphoning funds, it’s the only explanation.  What I don’t know is who.”

“It’s Regi.  You know, the weasel-y looking one?”

“Mahal’s beard, Nori!  You knew who was taking the Guard’s money and you said nothing?  I accept that you find fooling me very amusing, but this kind of secret could get Thorin killed.  My Guards are good, but they require pay.  Without that money….” He stopped as Nori placed a finger on his lips.

“”Relax, Dwalin.  I had no idea Regi was filching.  What I did know was that he has a gambling problem.  He’s in deep enough with a chèshûn in the Underhalls to drive an honest Dwarf to steal, just so he won’t conveniently fall and break his legs.  But Regi isn’t honest.  He’s skilled at making numbers lie.  I thought that was why you hired him, his skill.”

“I hired him on someone else’s recommendation, so perhaps I did.  My thanks, Nori.”

“No need to thank me, Guardsman.  If my information can help Thorin or Dis’s boys I’m glad to be of service.”

“What of Dis herself?”  Dwalin cocked an eyebrow.

“Dis can take care of herself.  Saw her break a cutpurse’s wrist once.  Happened before he knew he’d been caught; before _I_ knew he’d been caught.  One moment he was lifting her purse, the next he was screaming and her hand was latched around a wrist bent funny.  Beautiful, it was.”  Dwalin smiled at the misty look in Nori’s eyes.  There was no denying that the Princess of Erebor was one strong, fiery dwarrowdam.

“I ever tell you about her cooking spoon?  That thing was lethal.”

“Enough talk about the Princess.  I came here for a purpose, you know.”  He sat down on Dwalin’s lap, ignoring the eye roll his action triggered.  “I suspect you may want to review who you set to keep an eye on our youngest Royal from now on.  My watchers saw him slip the Guard to go sulk on the balcony.  They stayed with him until he went running like Durin’s Bane was behind him, next we saw him was in the infirmary with an unconscious daughter of Men.  Not sure what the story is yet, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“Let’s see, Saldis was the one watching him.  She’ll not be guarding anyone ‘til she impresses me with her resolve.  I think an assignment to the Wall could give her the opportunity.  I want to know more about the girl, but it can wait.  There better be a good explanation.”

“I hope it’s a good one for your sake, but I hope whatever it is just gets Kili out of his head awhile.  Lad needs to start living a little.  Oh don’t give me that look; I’m not saying he should live like _me_.  Just that he should live.  He’s been buried in that skull of his for far too long.”  He leaned in to Dwalin.  “Just like you’ve been buried in this damned parchment storm.”  He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Sadly, I cannot do any living of the sort you mean right now, because someone busted my lock.”

Nori placed a hand over his heart and looked offended.  “You wound me, Dwalin.  I never _break_ locks.  I haven’t since I was a child.  Your lock is in perfect condition.  And that bench looks comfy.”  He trailed a hand over Dwalin’s neck as he stood and sauntered over to the bench he had mentioned.  Dwalin groaned, then followed.  Paperwork could wait.


	2. Fili and the Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili teaches Chris how to fight with daggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I don't know how to fight with knives. I did a butt-ton of internet research, but that only gets you so far and I was unwilling to actually learn knife fighting for the purposes of a one page long one-shot. Please bear that in mind.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated first and foremost to i11iad for giving me this idea. Also much thanks to tamarama for unflagging support and for more ideas.
> 
> This chapter is purposely vague in terms of when it happens. It could be any time after Chapter 15 of All Those Who Wander, even in the sequel.

“Remember, your grip needs to be flexible.  Too rigid and tight and you’ll hurt your hand.  Too loose and you’ll drop it.  What do we never do?”

“We never drop the weapon.  Jesus, Fili, I’m not a moron, I know not to drop the goddamn knife.”  Fili’s hand flicked out faster than the eye could see and the knife in her hand went flying across the salle court.  Chris gave him a dirty glare and went to retrieve it.  She scowled as she returned with it, using her tunic hem to wipe it clean.  At least she was conscientious about how she cared for her weapons.  “Dirty trick, you bugger.  I wasn’t prepared.”

“You won’t always be.  Had you been holding it the way you were supposed to, it would have stayed put when I flicked you.  Now run through the pattern again, this time holding your weapon properly.”

She straightened, took three deep breaths and then stepped forward lightly, quickly moving through a maze of hanging targets and carven wood dummies, striking each in the correct place.  Fili move around to one side where she would have to switch hands to strike a target on the wall.  If her grip was going to fail at any point it would be here.  She rounded another target, sending it swinging as she hit it, then switched hands to stab the wall target in the center before moving on.  As she stepped past it, Fili hit her hand again.  This time the knife stayed put and for a moment she stopped, surprised.

“Good job.  Now keep going, you have another three targets and two more dummies.”

“Slave driver.”  She smirked at him.  Clearly the success pleased her.  As she continued along her designated path, she called over her shoulder.  “I’m going to remember that flicking when we train hand to hand blocks, you know.”

Blocks were one of the few things he hated about when he joined Kili and Dwalin at their hand combat lessons.  He would rather attack than block.  “Please just remember that the flicking did its job.  Your grip is better now.”

“And you’ll keep your hands up, after I try it on you.  Doesn’t that make you happy?”

“Vile woman.  Hey, keep your strikes where they’re meant to go!  I know you find stabbing their crotches very funny, but that one was supposed to be a hamstring.”

“Aww, you’re no fun,” she complained, but her next dummy was stabbed precisely where he’d marked it with red chalk.  After her run was complete, she wiped her face with a cloth and cracked her neck in a way that irritated him to no end.  That was probably why she did it.  She’d been teasing him as much as Kili ever did and he was starting to think he’d had it easy, growing up.  Kee was nothing compared to her.  She grinned at him and tossed him the red chalk.

“Another pattern?  Or the same one again?”

“Up to you.”

“Alright, you’re going to start from here this time and proceed as I do, follow me and keep an eye on what I’m marking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who just can't wait for more Wander Verse stuff, I have a solution for you! I'm starting up a tumblr blog for my fannish creations. You'll find the things that inspire me, pictures of things that show up in the story (or as close as I can get, I have to rely on the interwebs for most of it, as my drawing skill is null), thoughts, perhaps even a contest or two (winner gets a commissioned one-shot).
> 
> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	3. What you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How we get a Happy Ever After.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, the title of this chapter is a reference to the line from the Bible "What you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me." Or something like that, I don't know where to find it. Not that Thorin thinks that Fili and Kili are the least of his kin, but it seemed like the closest quote to the whole thing.
> 
> Also, if you aren't caught up to chapter 17 of All Those Who Wander, this may come out of left field for you, but in that chapter, Thorin explains why his feelings towards Elves have changed, and mostly, it's this story right here.
> 
> And I keep forgetting to thank the folks who leave kudos and comments on this one for some reason. But thank you, archae_ology, i11iad, tamarama, tigrislilium, and the guests who left me kudos, and extra thanks to tamarama and tigrislilium for commenting.

Thorin roared in battle fury, his sword flashing in the last light of the setting sun.  Black Orc blood stained his hands and clothes like tar.  A massive Orc charged him, and though he felled his foe with a thrust to the gut, Thorin fell under the last blow the Orc would ever make.

Across the battlefield, Kili spotted his uncle as he fell.  He cried out to his brother, who was nearer, and his arrows dispatched any attacker who might have reached his uncle first.  Upon reaching his goal, Fili saw that Thorin’s chest still rose and fell with life, and made it his purpose to defend his King.  Putting his back to the prone form of Thorin, his swords brought down all foes that made it past Kili’s deadly aim.  So focused were they on protecting their uncle, that they hardly noticed enemies intent on Thorin’s heirs, rather than Thorin himself.

Tauriel spotted the Goblin behind Kili as its knife rose for a killing stroke.  She slew it with an arrow, which as it whizzed by Kili’s ear, caught his attention.  She neared him, calling out.  “You’re little good to him dead!  I shall watch your back, and you shall not fall tonight.”  Together they defended both Thorin and each other, and when he came close enough, Tauriel called to Legolas to defend Fili. 

The four of them fought as a seamless whole, dancing the deadly dance of combat.  It was odd that two Elves and two Dwarves could find that harmony of will, their people never having had true harmony before in all the ages of Middle Earth.  Yet in common purpose they found a purity of spirit that bound them to one another.  In later ages, Legolas would look back on this moment, this battle, and see the planting of a seed that grew to fruition with another, called Elf-Friend.

And when the battle broke, the Eagles swooping down upon Orc and Warg and Goblin alike, the army of the enemy scattered and broken, the armies of Elves and Men and Dwarves caught in joyous relief, Legolas and Tauriel were the ones who carried the stretcher bearing the Dwarven King to the healer’s tents.

When he woke, Thorin found that in his heart, things had changed.  He no longer blamed Bilbo for any part of the folly that nearly led to disaster, and he wished to make things right with his burglar.  Bilbo was ushered in and words of forgiveness spoken by both, and they parted friends.  When the tale of his defense reached him, he wondered at the truth of it, and called for the four.

“I would know the tale of how my life was spared.  I hear the oddest tales.”

“If you hear the tales we have heard, then you hear only the truth, for we did indeed fight well beside each other.”  Legolas spoke with the grace and solemnity of his long years.  “I thought it most fitting that two Crown Princes should guard each other’s backs.”

“It would seem I owe a debt to you.  Tell me how I might repay it.”

“There is no debt for that which is given from duty and honor.  It would have been shame to leave you and yours to die when it could be prevented.  All I ask is forgiveness for our treatment of you when you stayed in the Woodland Realm.”

“Then it is yours.”  With this, Thorin’s head falls back against his pillow and he will not wake again for some days.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who just can't wait for more Wander Verse stuff, I have a solution for you! I'm starting up a tumblr blog for my fannish creations. You'll find the things that inspire me, pictures of things that show up in the story (or as close as I can get, I have to rely on the interwebs for most of it, as my drawing skill is null), thoughts, perhaps even a contest or two (winner gets a commissioned one-shot).  
> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	4. Accidents Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of the training accident, told from Dwalin's point of veiw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short would not have come into being without a comment from the lovely tamarama. For that, much thanks.
> 
> This short would not have been as good without help from my father, a, experienced fencer with many a horror story about training accidents. For my childhood hearing them, much thanks.
> 
> This short would have had to be re-written without my mother reminding me to save and unplug before the monster thunderstorm three weeks ago. For remembering that I never remember, much thanks

It was an alright sparring session, but Kili was being too flashy.  He was whirling for no good purpose, dancing away from strikes rather than just blocking them, and he actually _flipped_ one of his axes in the air a little.  Honestly!  Just because the lad had an infatuation with the lass was no reason to throw good form into the smelter.  In fact, if the Crown Prince was to be believed, the lass had enough warrior in her she might appreciate proper fighting better than this… this _playacting_.  Dwalin noted with some amusement that the lass in question was beginning to look bored or perhaps just tired of sitting still.  He sympathized; he was also rather done with Kili’s exhibitionism.

Dwalin didn’t ordinarily use his full strength or skill against the princes.  Only enough to give them good practice, but not enough to humiliate them.  He knew Kili thought otherwise, but then, there was no need for the prince to know that he trained them any differently than he did the Royal Guards.  He pushed the guards hard so that they would be ready for whatever might seek to harm their charges.  He felt no need to with the charges themselves.  But this cursed showing off needed to end.  He’d been moving slower than he could, pretending that his stamina was flagging, but in truth it wasn’t.  He’d fought battles that lasted a full day; this little game couldn’t touch him.

He began to hit harder, forcing Kili across the floor, driving him back.  Each strike was firm and solid.  From the mild ache in his own arms, Dwalin knew that the shocks were reverberating through their weapons and into their arms.  Kili was not as accustomed to that facet of hard strikes.  Dwalin had trained him to never, ever drop a weapon, so he’d had lessons in how to hold axes or swords when his arms were tingling from striking a solid target, but it had been years since he practiced that skill.  He’d spent more time on archery, which Dwalin could see the use of, but he himself would much prefer a solid weapon you held in your hands.

He saw in Kili’s eyes that the lad had taken about all he could bear, but it seemed the Prince’s pride could not take yielding with a maiden present.  He backed up a step, giving the boy time to breathe a bit before charging him.  This move had caught Kili off guard often enough, and if he could land a hit on a shoulder then Kili would have to admit defeat.  He had the Prince right where he wanted him.  It turned out that Kili knew that too.

As the Prince went twirling out of the path of danger, Dwalin’s eyes widened in horror.  He was going too fast to change course, far too fast to stop in time, and the Lady was standing right in his path.  He tried to will his body to stop, to turn, to do anything but plow right into her.  It was all in vain, his body kept going.  Then he felt a delicate hand on his upraised axe-hand wrist, another on his shoulder and a slight pressure on his ankle.  The touches were light, but firm, although not enough to stop him, he thought.  Then in a whirl of motion, he was flat on his back.  He momentarily saw stars, but when his vision cleared he was greeted by the sight of Lady Christiana hovering over him.

“I’m so sorry, Dwalin, I didn’t think the flip would be so hard on you.  I’m accustomed to people who know how to fall.”  What in Mahal’s name did she mean by _that_?  He was no delicate filigree, he was hard as mithril and sturdy as granite.  And that fluttering of her hands was distracting.

“What do you mean by that, lass?  I’m merely surprised, not injured.”  Although it _was_ quite the shock.  He was glad none of his Guards were present.  Saldis would have been in unholy glee to see him take a fall, especially as she still had Wall duty.

“What happened?”  The Prince was standing over him as well, now.  “It seemed that one moment you were about to collide, and then…this.”

“When Dwalin came at me, I reacted without thinking, on instinct.  I flipped him.”  The lass placed a hand on Dwalin’s chest as he tried to sit up.  He could have pushed past it, the hand wasn’t that firm, but she seemed to think he ought to lie still and she was already in a tizzy.  “Oh do lie still, that hit was far too hard, and you may have been injured.  Kili, fetch a doctor.”

“I’m perfectly fine, lass.  Dwarves are sturdy folk; Mahal made us that way when he carved us from mountain stone.  Also, I’m a Royal Guard; I’ve fought in wars, lass.  I know how to safely take a fall.”  He shot a pleading look at the Prince, hoping that he would receive some measure of support.

“He does, honest.  I’ve seen him fall while wearing armor, then just get up and keep fighting.  I don’t believe you hurt him, but I would like to know just how you did whatever it was that landed the toughest Dwarf I know on his back.”  The Prince held a hand out to Dwalin, who used the offered hand to help him stand.  He, too, wanted to know how such gentle touches resulted in flying through the air.

“It was a simple flip, a judo move.”  Now that Dwalin was standing and obviously alright, she seemed to relax a bit.  “I can teach you, but on the condition that you teach me some of these weapon styles.  I’m only good at unarmed fighting and would like to learn to use a weapon as well.  I did train with a bo-staff, but it’s been a long time.”  So the lass did have warrior blood running in her veins.  And some degree of skill, as evidenced by what she claimed was a ‘simple’ move.

“What would you like to learn?”  Kili asked.  “I can teach you the basics of sword or axe work, but for anything more….”  Dwalin was about to offer to teach her spear work, as she had mentioned training with some kind of staff, but before he could voice it, she responded.

“Fencing sounds fun.  I don’t think I have the shoulder strength to use those.” She pointed almost accusingly at the blunted practice axe that Dwalin still held.  “Also, if you wouldn’t mind teaching me archery, I know you’re good enough to teach that.  And in return I can teach you the hand to hand forms I know.”  Dwalin was glad that she expressed an interest in learning archery from the Prince.  Not just because ranged fighters were essential in any battle, but because she seemed to admire his skill with a bow.  Kili’d had enough grief over his chosen weapon over the years.  It would be good to see him harbor a less bitter version of pride in his skill.

“It’s a bargain.”  They shook hands, but the lass seemed to fumble when the grip was shifted in the time-honored pattern that indicated a deal had been arranged.  Then again, Nori’s reports of her story of her origins, coupled with Fili’s assertion that she was telling the truth, meant that perhaps she was unaware of the standard rules, so long used that they went unspoken.  He’d better find a way to get her some education on the customs she was now immersed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	5. Legolas meets Chris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much what the title says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this one-shot is the scene from chapter 21 of All Those Who Wander where Legolas and Chris meet, told from Legolas's point of view. The main story contains Chris's point of view. The dialogue is the same, because, well, it's the same conversation, but how Legolas and Chris look at the conversation is different.
> 
> Normally I recommend that you read the associated chapter first, but honestly, this one can be read in any order.
> 
> I'm giving up on dedicating chapters on this one, btw. I know it's unfair, and I still feel deep gratitude to those who take the time to let me know they like my work, but I'm having a hard time tracking the responses. If anybody inspires a particular chapter, I will still thank them for that, like I did last chapter.

Legolas smiled cheerfully as he walked through the halls of the palace.  Although he was on friendly terms with the nephews of the Dwarvenking he was excused from the tedious process of treaty writing.  It may have had something to do with the fact that for the week preceding the arrival of the Dwarven delegation he refused to sit on chairs, instead choosing tables, the floor, or the laps of councilors.  His father was horrified, but the plan worked.

He rounded the corner into the Royal library, but to his surprise, it was already occupied.  The figure in the room was short, and somewhat stocky, although less so than the other Dwarven delegates.  She (for it was obviously a woman) was clearly intrigued by the carving on the shelves, which he suppose made sense.  Everyone always said Dwarves were greatly enamored of fine craftsmanship.

“Hello.  I don’t believe I’ve ever met a Dwarf woman.”  She jumped a little.  “I was under the impression that you never left the Dwarven Halls.”

“Erebor has recently been repopulated, Prince Legolas.”  How did she know his name?  He supposed that Kili might have told his people, or perhaps she was present when he greeted the Dwarven prince.  He hadn’t noticed the Dwarf woman, but it was possible.  “It would have been hard to do that if Dwarven women never left their homes.”  That was a startlingly logical statement.  He detected a sharp wit, and perhaps a dry humor, in her.  “And besides, although I live with them, and they number my greatest friends in all of Middle Earth, I myself am not a Dwarf.  I’m human.  That is, of the race of Men.”

Really?  Now that was interesting.  He knew not what would drive a daughter of Men to take refuge with Dwarves, never known for their openness to other races.  But surely it was a tremendous story, if she counted the notoriously prickly people as her greatest friends, even over her own race.  “Someday, you must tell me how a daughter of Men came to be traveling with a Dwarven diplomatic contingent.  It must be quite the tale.”

“Not really.”  She shrugged as though this sort of thing happened often, and that it was of no consequence.  “I came because Gandalf said I should, and I know not to question the wizard when he starts making plans for you.  He’s very often right, and even if I tried to protest, I’d get nowhere.”  He knew that to be true.  When a wizard got it into his head to organize your life, it was safest to get out of his way.  “It was my idea to send Kili as the representative of the royal family, and somehow to Gandalf this meant I must go too.”

Interesting, that she was on good enough terms with the Royal family of Erebor to dictate something like that.  But she said it as though it were nothing, and her stance suggested that she was not interested in answering questions.  Instead, he simply nodded in agreement.  “Mithrandir can be like that.  But why have you come to the royal library this morn?”

“I was looking for my friends, but when I couldn’t find them, and this marvelous room appeared, I couldn’t resist.  I’m sorry if I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“As a member of a foreign delegation, the library is open to you.”  He thought briefly of the sour faced Master Archivist that ran the library.  Perhaps this was not the right place to let guests wander, lest they get a scolding from the bitter ruler of the library. He thought quickly of a way to direct her elsewhere.  “Although there are some fragile volumes here, so perhaps this is not the best of places to explore.  Instead, how would you care to accompany me to the star garden and you can tell me more about your home?”   She hesitated, and Legolas could have slapped himself.  If he was right and she indeed took up with Dwarves to escape some awful situation, her home was not the best thing to mention.  But he hadn’t meant that home; he should clarify.  “I’ve not been to Erebor since the reclamation.” 

“Of course.  It’s an interesting place….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legolas's brilliant plan to get out of boring diplomatic talks is inspired by another fic, Drenagon's History Teaches Us. Many thanks to quadrad for confirming that "this is the fic you're looking for".
> 
> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	6. Dwalin's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of how Dwalin got hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short. I tried to lengthen it, but it resisted. Given it used to be a part of chapter 23, that makes sense, it was never intended to be as long as a chapter.

Dwalin was fighting hard against a rather persistent spider.  The wretched creature’s carapace was like armor, deflecting any attempt to kill it.  Grasper and Keeper chipped the hard surface, but did little to no serious damage.  Dwalin was beginning to think he may actually need help on this one, when finally a lucky strike (not that he would ever admit luck had anything to do with it) brought the creature down.  Feeling strong and invincible (not that he would admit to that, either), he rushed headlong into the next fray, against a number of goblins.  They quickly had him surrounded and things looked grim, until the Elven general, Maethon, dropped down on them from the treetops.  Together the two hardened warriors fought, back to back.

The turn of the battle came, and the less hearty of the creatures fled, leaving behind the very brave and the very stupid.  If Dwalin were being honest, he would say it’s very often hard to tell the difference.  Certainly in the case of the two princes, if he recalled his time training them correctly.  Whilst dispatching the remaining goblins and spiders, Dwalin and Maethon talked, comparing other battles to this one, speaking of their respective subordinates, and the skills they shared.  Maethon used swords, not having the patience for archery.  Dwalin had been known to use a sword a time or two, although he much preferred Grasper and Keeper.  When he suggested that Maethon might like to try axes at some point, the general tilted his head in thought.

“Perhaps that would be a thing to learn once we finally clear the forest.  As long as we live under constant threat I would feel remiss to try something like that when my time would be better spent protecting us.  How is the weight?”

“Here, take a heft of Grasper, see if you think your Elf arms could swing it.”  He handed the axe to General Maethon, a sure indicator that the Elven warrior had made an impression.  Normally he would never consider handing one of his named weapons to a stranger.  But Maethon clearly had enough respect to be trusted to be careful with another’s weapon.

“It is a bit on the heavy side.  Do you think one could be made lighter?”

“Oh, aye, in fact I think I know just the craftsman to ask to make one for you.  Tovi made an axe for the Lady Dis, and she always seemed pleased with it.”

“I hope when this unpleasantness is over you will direct me to him so I might inquire as to such.”  General Maethon held out Grasper, whilst Dwalin chuckled.  He withdrew the axe, somewhat offended.  “Did I say something amusing?”

“Tovi’s a dwarrowdam.  There’s no “him” about it.  She’s a beauty, too.  More than once I’ve had to break up fights over who was going to bring her weekly shipment of iron or steel.  Apprentices can be so…dramatic.  And blind, as any with functional eyes could see she’s married to her work.”

“I see.  Is it often your women craft weapons?”  He held the axe out again and this time Dwalin reached to take it, unthinkingly putting his arm over a seemingly dead spider.  Seemingly would be the operative word, as its leg shot out as his arm was directly over it, slicing him from elbow to wrist.  Thankfully it was a shallow wound and not in the right place to open the big vein in the arm, but it burned like fire.  Dwalin powered through the pain to chop the thing into bits, roaring in rage and some embarrassment (he would later deny that he’d been chatting with the Elven general and too caught up in the merits of Tovi Ironspine’s craftsmanship to notice the thing wasn’t dead).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let's hear it for dwarrowdams taking on weapons-smithing. It's not even a particularly radical thing in Dwarf society (that's my headcanon and I'm sticking to it), but it shocked the pants off of General Maethon, who has only ever heard that Dwarf women are sheltered and treasured beyond measure. They are, but all the dude Dwarves know if they try to take away the right to craft, there will be riots and dangly-bits getting threatened. So there's never been the thought of trying to restrict that side of life to just the guys.
> 
> By the way, Tovi is ace. A good number of Dwarves are, as is supported by canon.


	7. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Durin boys get ‘The Talk’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter of All Those Who Wander is pain. Lots of two idiots being idiots and causing themselves pain. So I'm giving you fluff to compensate.
> 
> For the purposes of this one-shot, Fili is approximately 14, Kili is approximately 10.
> 
> Thanks to tamarama for giving me the idea.

When Fili was forty and Kili was thirty five, Dis and Thorin finally broke down and did what they had to do.  They decided to speak to both boys together to minimize the number of times they had to endure this.  Plus Kili was still at that stage where if Fili did something, he had to do it too.  Kili was still a little young for this, being a bit of a late bloomer, but it was past time for Fili to know.

The two adults, with trepidation firmly in their hearts, called the boys in to Thorin’s work room.  In addition to it having enough seats for all of them, it was also a room that the boys viewed with a kind of reverence, and they knew that any discussion held here was of solemn importance.  Dis’s sons sat in the straight-backed chairs that usually faced the massive desk, while the adults sat on a low sofa that had seen better days.  Dis was so nervous, she picked at the fraying edges of the threadbare burgundy velvet.  She didn’t often let fear show like that.

“Boys, we’ve asked you here because there’s something we need to tell you, something you need to know before you’re all grown up and beyond our teaching.”  Thorin cleared his throat.  “It’s about how Dwarflings are made.”

“They come out of dwarrowdams,” Fili stated authoritatively.  “Amad had Kili in her belly for a long time before he came out.”

“Well, yes, that is the end result, but we want to talk about the beginning of the process.  About what puts unborn babes into dwarrowdams in the first place.  See, when a Dwarf and a dwarrowdam love each other very much, they can create a Dwarfling.  Thorin, where are the woodcuts?”  There was some fumbling as they extracted the thin book of woodcut pictures for visual aids from between the sofa’s cushions, where it had fallen.

“Right, so this is a picture of what’s inside a dwarrowdam.”

“What’re all the lines for?  Are they strings?”

“No, Kili, those are tubes that carry the eggs to the womb so that they can…yes Fili?”

“Dwarrowdams lay eggs?  Are they like chicken eggs?”

“Sort of, but much smaller, as I was saying…”

“Like sparrow eggs?”

“No, more like fish or frog eggs, in terms of size, very, very small.  Now be quiet.  As I was saying the eggs are made here, then once a moon cycle they go through these tubes to here, the womb.  When the couple wants to have a baby, the male dwarf…Thorin, turn the page, I need the diagram of a male’s parts.  Alright, here’s a diagram of the inside of a male dwarf.  I’m sure you know what this is, you both have them.”

“Penises?”

“Yes, those.  And the little sac down here holds…”

“Stones?  Narvi said Mister Dwalin must have huge ones because…”

“Don’t be crude dear.  But yes, that is what they are commonly called.  They make a substance that goes from here, through here, to here, where it comes out.”

“Like pee?”

“Thorin, stop chuckling.  No, dear.  Pee originates somewhere else and is more fluid.  The substance I’m talking about is thicker and white.”

“The first time I saw it, I thought I was seriously ill, because it looked like pus to me…Why do you have that look on your face, Fili?”

“I’m not gonna die!  I woke up with it all over my sheets last week and I thought I was gonna die, but I’m not.  I’m not, right?”

“Would that be why your sheets wound up in that mud patch out back?”  Dis pinched the bridge of her nose.  “If you thought you were going to die, why didn’t you tell us?  You know what, never mind, we’re getting off topic.  When that goes into a dwarrowdam, it takes root in the egg, if one is present, and if all goes well, it grows into a baby, which then gets pushed out of the dwarrowdam’s body during birth.”

“How does it get in there?”

“Ah, well, um…Thorin will tell you that.”

“Wait what!”

“I did the talking up ‘til now, so Dwarf up and handle the next part.  I’m going to go get us something to drink”

 “Dis, they’re your children, why are you abandoning me?”

“And if Vili were here I would make him do it.  I’m not explaining love-making to my babies.  I can handle the technical bits, but by Mahal’s beard, they are learning proper love-making from _you_.”

Thorin turned a shade of red similar to that of the upholstery of the sofa, as though he was attempting to escape his task through camouflage.  Clearing his throat awkwardly, he flipped through the book until he found the woodcut he needed.  Turning it around to show it to the boys, he pointed out all the landmarks of the female body, the things that made most giggle or sigh or moan in pleasure, making sure to emphasize that not all women were the same, some would not warm to some things, but would for others.  He made sure to tell them several times that they needed to ask their wives what they liked, rather than charge blindly ahead.  Thorin had expected Kili to be disgusted at this part of the discussion, as thirty five was a little young to be thinking that way, but instead his youngest sister-son had a studious look on his face.  Fili seemed more embarrassed than anything.  Finally, he ended the talk with an admonition to ask him if they ever had any questions, and fled to the cellar, where he unearthed the hidden flask of Dorwinion whiskey he hid behind the jars of pickled beets his sister had put up ages ago.  Dis found him a little while later.

“That bad, eh?”

“That bad.”


	8. Old That is Strong, Chapter 2, Boromir's perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For kinpandun.

Boromir stood in contemplation when a hand yanked him off balance such that it was walk or fall on his face.  Struggling to see his attacker he saw the imperious woman from the Council, the one who knocked his head in a way that made the lights flicker for a moment afterwards and accused him of dragon sickness.  She was a Princess of Erebor, he knew what those words meant from her lips, he’d fought alongside Ereboran forces enough.  Had she concluded he needed to be stopped? he wondered as she let go of his tunic to face the halflings.

“Training time, boys.  Boromir, you’ll provide my demonstration opponent, since you are tall as all fuck and they need to watch me fight from below.  Sam, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, watch me, and see how I move.”

Her words were cheerful and foul as any soldier he’d met.  She was obviously a formidable opponent, but if he got the reach, there was a chance of returning that humiliation to her.

“What weapons will we be…” he was asking when she stopped him with an annoyingly sounded negation.  He could admit the wisdom of training the body first, but Théodred stood head and shoulders above her and still fell.  This was not going to be pleasant.

Her words to the softest Halfling were not pleasant either.  Comforting one who was walking to his doom, heh, _doom_.  Brutal truths would be painful but better.  And she obviously felt she knew better.  Who was she to decide fates?  When he confronted her on this matter, she snapped irritably, explaining the limits of her vision in a way that only served to increase the appearance of power.  Then she brought Faramir into the matter.  He flinched at the accusation as though it were not words, but a knife thrown.

By the time he got his words back, she was already driving them harder than any instructor he’d ever had, pushing for stronger swifter movements to strike and toss and block an opponent.  Sweat dripped into his eyes as he tried to move past her defenses.  He had reach on her, but only when she wanted him close did he get close enough to strike her, and by then he was on his back or belly silently cursing as he rose to fight again under her cruel taunts.  Even her compliments were barbed.  Was there nothing soft or womanly about this foul beast?  Was her husband deficient of mind?

Merry had caught a good grasp of timing to change a charge into a headlong tumble, and had just deposited Pippin in some flowering bush’s boughs.  He couldn’t disperse his force as she taught within the bush, so before another stinging taunt could fly, Boromir spoke.

“Oh for pity’s sake, give the halflings some rest.  What did the little ones ever do to earn this?”

“They did nothing to earn it, no one has ever _earned_ the need for this,” she said softly, the first kind word from her he’d heard.  And very true.  “ _However_ , because of the paths they will travel along, they needed to be prepared for the harshest of realities.”  Boromir nodded, only to be brought up short by her next words.  “And _you_ needed to be reminded why we fight.  I _had_ hoped the extra forces at Osgiliath would render this lesson unnecessary.  That we could keep the toll low enough that you do not turn away from light in search of a power that is essentially pointless.”

She’d influenced the Garrison’s posting?

“That _thing_ ,” she hissed, speaking, he knew, of the Ring, “renders the wearer invisible.  That’s it.  In the hands of the one who made it, _maybe_ , only _maybe_ it could be coaxed to greater powers, but in mortal hands?  Invisibility, and no more.”  A fact he knew.  “Which would be great,” she said exasperated.  “Except it has a fatal weakness in that it only makes the bearer _more_ visible to our enemies.  Aside from the fact it would only end up using one who would seek to rule it, betray any who held it when it felt the time was right, it’s the exact opposite of a double edged sword.  It only cuts the Free Peoples, never our enemy.”

“I know that,” he insisted.  He was no simpleton, he knew the thing was foul and dangerous.

“And _yet_ , the things I have seen you say, in this path, in all other paths I saw, you see it only as a power to be used to strike back.”  She spoke not unkindly, only pointing out the facts.  In truth he had said but what his Father ordered him say, argued for the ends his Father commanded.  But his Father was but a Steward, and now two heirs of Gondor and Arnor stood ready to take rightful places.

“I understood that,” she continued, unaware of his own awareness, “in the path where Gondor held back the tide alone, where Osgiliath was taken and re-taken in an endless cycle of death.  I felt for you, for your struggle to contain the greed it incites.  So I changed the path.”

Again she speaks of great power, beyond Elves or Wizards.  She was not Vairë the Weaver to determine fate.  Such was only madness!

“Gondor did not stand vigil alone,” she reminded him, as though she knew his thoughts, “unless I utterly failed in my every attempt to shield you from that lonely road.  You had _allies_ ,” she pleads, “the Garrison to fight beside you, signed pacts of peace preventing an attack upon you from the south, a vigilant Rohan guarding you from the North.  I did all in my power to protect you, Lord Boromir.  All I could to keep bitter anger and fear from giving that dreadful trinket a hold on you.”

She not only influanced the Garrison’s posting, she arranged to shield Gondor.  Not from love of her birthright, but pity for one man, for him.  His heart clenched at what she’d risked to save Osgiliath, to save him.

“And in _that_ , I did utterly fail, much to my own pain,” she said, voice lowering.  He wished he could tell her, tell her that Osgiliath stood yet, that he was not the bitter, angry, fearful man his Father was.  He could not.  “Now, all I have left to me is _damage control_.  The more you see Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin, in place of “the halflings”, which is fairly insulting by the by, they are not half of anything, they are Hobbits.”  He could see how that appellation was insulting and vowed not to use it again.  “Well, the more that happens, the better.  The more you can look at Frodo and see a _person_ , a small, brave, noble _person_ , instead of “the ring bearer” you resent for his burden, the _less_ likely you are to die full of arrows and regrets in a pool of your own blood and besmirched honor on the banks of a river as Uruk-Hai abduct your companions.”  He reeled at her blunt proclamation of his future death.  Arrows and blood were to be expected, regrets and sullied honor less so.  He wanted to die with some measure of dignity, but she foretold a death he would carry the shame of beyond the Veil.  “I can tell you who, or rather _what_ , will control you if you fail to control _yourself_ , Lord Boromir,” she told him, her voice now barely a sound on her breaths.  The Ring, she spoke of the Ring.  But the bearer of it was Frodo, little Frodo Baggins with his large heart, and to get to him, it was obvious he’d have to have slain Sam, the brave one who would die before he saw his friend betrayed.  “I think we’ve engaged in rather enough fighting for now,” she continued at a higher volume.  “I’m going to cool down so I don’t get cramps, feel free to stay.”  He left, shaking.

He paced through the halls, seeking something he could not name.  A rough Dwarven laugh caught his attention.  Lord Gimli.  He hailed from Erebor, and she had acted as though she knew him, and he of her.

“Pardon,” he asked the three laying on furniture in ways he was sure tables and chairs were not meant to be used.  “I would like a word with Lord Gimli.”

“Come in, then, cousin,” said Aragorn, son of Arathorn, one of the heirs of Elindil.

“Perhaps it is best asked in private?” Boromir offered.  He wasn’t sure how to handle this.

“Anything you ask Gimli, he will probably tell me,” said the Woodland Prince lazily from his place upon a table, neck over the edge so his hair hung free.

“And anything Gimli tells Legolas will soon be told to me, if only because we will have laid wagers on your question and need to settle up,” added Aragorn.  “Or Arwen will tell me, because she knows how to make Legs talk.”

The Elf squawked at that, to which Gimli said “Ducks” and Legolas silently conceded.

“I want to know how strong the Princess’s power of foresight is.  She speaks of it so negligently, but she….”

“Predicted yer death, huh?” Gimli said with a sympathetic shrug.  “Tis a thing she does, but only so as to rob her own power.  More she changes things, more she can’t say what will happen to whom when.  Her goal is to make her knowings pointless.”

“She doesn’t like parts of our path she’s seen, so she drags us down deer trails to avoid it,” added Legolas.

“She meddles more than a wizard,” Aragorn said.

“Agreed,” spoke Legolas.  “When we met she set about immediately turning all my expectations on their heads, as she thought they would be better that way.  I’m not complaining, without that, I would never have gotten into slope-races.  Which means, I’d have met Gimli in a much more formal setting, perhaps even here, instead of being pushed off a mountain by the most obstinate being short of the Princess herself.”  He reached to ruffle Gimli’s hair, which Boromir knew meant close friendship when only a hand pushed off the offending limb, not an axe.

“Watch it Elf, your sap is getting all over my hair.”

“Eh, you like my sap, you just pretend to have an iron heart.”

“Never trust and Elf, me dad told me, but I ignored him and now this.  He was right about you, you locket stealing leaf eater.”

They broke out wrestling, and Boromir backed out of the room.  He ran into Suladân and Théodred.

“Apologies,” he bowed stiffly.  They returned the gesture a touch more gracefully.

“My people would wish to thank you, should they be here, Gondorian,” the Haradi Captain said.

“For, for what?”

“For keeping the Sabi Rose’s enemy penned in as a goat.  And for guarding her kin.  The Light of the North is precious to the South as well and we should not have been happy should Hama the Reborn been slain.  You fought beside, yes?”

“Yes, but, how is Hama involved?” he asked, trying to connect two short copper curled warriors from Erebor.

“Hama is the Sabi Rose’s child.”

“My grandda was there when the Twins were born,” added Théodred.  “Great Uncle Galmod told me he almost swooned like a maiden,” he added conspiratorially.  “The Hama you know was named after the Rohirrim that helped the Princess give birth.  I’m told she swore in seventeen tongues, almost started a riot in another part of the kindom, finished giving birth and then asked “where were we again?  Bit distracted,” while Thengel just looked green.  Of course, Ambassador Ori down by Helm’s Deep also tells me she likes to scare people by showing them pink fish that eat wolf meat.  So I don’t think all the stories are true.”  He shrugged.

Boromir bowed again and continued his walk with more to think on.  Hama said little of family, but he knew his friend loved hers as much as possible.  She wrote them by Raven every day of the siege.

He walked back by the yard they’d sparred in, to hear, what was surely a private moment.

“You have never doubted your own strength before, Ghivashel, what makes you fearful of it now?” Prince Kili asked.

“I tore into Boromir.  You recall his end?”  She’d told him?  Boromir squashed the anger, this was her husband, she likely told him all her visions.  “I tossed it in his face,” she admitted guiltily.  “The death, the dishonor, all from _my own_ fears.  _My own_ doubts about how it will affect _me_.”  Boromir blinked.  It was not surety of his lost honor, it was personal doubt?  “I was not a factor,” she continued, “I had no need to add myself to the equation when I laid my plans.  But the strength of Men has failed before.  It threatens to do so again.  There is no day the sun rises upon me I can say “it will not be this day.” Not with any surety.”

“Then it is good fortune you are not a man, is it not, Light of the North?” he said, stepping out into the arch behind her.  She turned and tipped into her husband’s lap with none of her earlier grace.  How long had she sat and wondered if she had spoken words to help or words to doom?  “While you sat and thought of consequence, I went to those who knew you, or of you.  I heard many a strange story.  I also heard of your line.”

“SHHH, no spoilers!” She hissed at him, waving her arms.  “I intend to go home and see it all myself.”

“I’ve been assured one fact will not come as a great surprise, but will also bring a measure of comfort.  I do not believe that the mother of Commander Hama the Reborn, Hero of Osgiliath, will fall to the same darkness she has laughed at before, no matter her connection to Isildur.  If nothing else, your child’s faith gives you credit, for I have never known Hama to ill-judge a character or unbalance the scales of right and wrong for the sake of fellowship or family.  I will accept your words as wisdom, as I would from the warrior I fought beside in the siege.”

He turned and left her in the care of her husband, who likely knew better than Boromir how to ease her fears.


End file.
